The Ballad of Redbeard and Yellowbeard
by Kinners
Summary: (SPOILERS FOR SHERLOCK SEASON FOUR & HTTYD BOOK 10) A creature he never imagined leads Sherlock to the brother he never knew. With the return of Victor Trevor, can the Holmes family finally be whole again? Or are some wounds just too deep?
1. Chapter 1

Now he _really_ knew how it felt to fall to your death.

Sherlock plummeted, away from the shark-colored overcast, away from the helicopter that dwindled before his eyes. Breath came in sporadic surges that his lungs couldn't handle. The air reviled at his unaerodynamic form, and he began to pitch and twirl, so that the line between sky and sea did cartwheels in his vision. He took one last despairing breath. Why? He was certainly going to die, so why was he taking a deep breath? It wasn't like he would need oxygen where he was going.

Cold. Pain. But his eyes snapped open, and he felt himself sink and float in place. Duh, _sea._ He must've miscalculated his relative position-he always had struggled with the cardinal directions.

Bubbles whirred before his face, obscuring his vision in their mad flight to the surface. Sherlock was approximately four meters underwater, if the discouraging distance of the surface was anything to judge by. Forever in every direction there was nothing but blue. Not even water; that would imply that there was anything familiar in this nihilistic dimension. Humans have nothing to do with nothing. This was endlessness, pure endlessness, and Sherlock Holmes was in the middle of it.

 _"Deep water, Sherlock."_ Euros's voice came unbidden and unhindered. _"Deep. Water."_

Fear. Fear began burrowing up from his stomach before he knew he'd seen anything. All it was was a shadow, a trick of light, because nothing could be that large and still be so far away. Nothing. But the great nothing came closer, its shape darker, its form more distinct. Now it had to be real, because the shadow was splitting into several shadows of different tones, and that gave it a real shape. A limb, reaching out and forward, not a fin? Another limb with a strange appendage, no, a neck and head. Crevices of shade, on the head, making a face. A sheet of darkness swooping down from the nothing, down past all hope of vision and dimensional comprehension, giving a whole new sense of depth to the horrified mind of Sherlock Holmes.

The head-if it _was_ a head-seemed to open, but nothing came out. The creature became distorted slightly, and the distortion grew and seemed to be getting closer, along with a tense humming in the water itself. Only when the soundwave reached Sherlock was the great nothing's voice heard. The fact that the noise was muffled did nothing for the sheer volume that ravaged every molecule as it passed. The ringing echo vibrated throughout Sherlock's mass, even after the wave had carried away into the rest of existence.

Stunned, he watched the shadow turn and melt back into eternity.

* * *

Sherlock exploded through the surface. He was going so fast he half lifted himself out of the water. His lungs burst into flame, having forgotten about air until then. Every muscle ached but it was the ache of fear, the tension that denies thought and kills all else. Frantically treading water, he whirled to check behind him, then forgot where his front had been, which directions he hadn't checked. He whipped about in a panic, the wind waves lapping against his face and his bare eyes. What was out there? Where could it be hiding? In that blue, in this blue, the other blue, blue, green, more blue-

Green?

He faced the right direction just in time to see the last of it sink below the waves. But yes, it had been green, a vivid, shiny green. It was unmistakable next to the murk. Had it really been there? What on earth would something that color be doing in the middle of the ocean?

As he watched the exact spot, he became aware of its ripples coming toward him.

They weren't ripples. They didn't fade as they came closer, they grew stronger. He immediately relapsed to panic. He turned and proceeded to full acceleration, legs and arms flailing through the water, but the ripples chased him. He dared a glance backwards. It was upon him. Sherlock screamed.

He screamed as he felt something under him, he screamed as he was flung into the air, and he screamed long after he had safely landed.

Upon opening his eyes, Sherlock was able to confirm the questionable message from the nerves in his rump that he was no longer in water. He was, in fact, sitting on something, but it wasn't dry land. It was green, and a little bumpy, and this was because it was covered in a thousand green scales that all interlocked as they spread over the sides of the belly and up the neck and all over the head.

Sherlock looked up. Slowly.

Whatever he was sitting on, it appeared to be a bona fide life form. It had ears, a nose, a mouth, all the latest features. It even had horns and small wart on its snout. But the eyes were the most spectacular: pure greengage, the size of cantaloupes, with hard black pupils that scoured Sherlock like steel wool. The mouth opened. White teeth glittered, red tongue curled. Sherlock froze in preemptive rigor mortis, anticipating the wrathful death the deep water had reserved for him….

"Your face is dumb."

"...pardon?" Sherlock managed to reply. Talking helped-it gave his brain an excuse to transfer authority from the amygdala back to the frontal lobe, which promptly got to work on activating the parasympathetic nervous system.

The dragon snarled, which made Sherlock jump. "Sorry. My human is a little rusty; the last one I met was decades ago, you know. What I meant to say was: your smell is odd."

"Odd?" repeated Sherlock.

"Yes, odd. Are you hearing correctly?" demanded the dragon. "It's bad enough I can hardly speak the tongue, now I'm talking to a deaf one?"

"No, it's just, um…." Sherlock soon realized that any attempt to excuse his slowness would fail catastrophically, and so decided to move on. "...what exactly is odd about it?"

"Don't know. Haven't got there yet," the dragon mused. It brought its head down to Sherlock and took a sudden sniff, which made him jump again. Now that its eyes were closer Sherlock observed that they weren't just bright: they were glowing, like massive green headlights. Sherlock found himself squinting at their proximity. He also felt a little nauseous.

"Have I met you before?" asked the dragon, reining his head in just a little. Just as the eyes were brighter, the dragon's voice felt louder, but this time Sherlock only flinched. Sherlock thought about the question. He blinked.

"I think I would remember." Sherlock speculated.

"I know, that's why I'm asking," the dragon explained, lifting his head back to its original height. For that Sherlock was grateful-he made a mental note not to look it in the eyes. "I've got thousands of years to keep track of, I can't be expected to remember every little insignificant person I've talked to." The dragon adjusted himself on the gently rocking ocean, causing Sherlock to stumble a bit.

"My name is Ruthless, a Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus, Dragon-Baron of the North Seas," introduced the dragon. "What is your name, little human?"

"I am Sherlock Holmes." he replied. If it had been an ordinary stranger he wouldn't have been so forthright with his identity, but he accurately deduced that dragons didn't care for things like stalking or identity theft. Sherlock watched Ruthless's face, carefully avoiding the hypnotic gaze, clearing his mind of all human assumptions. He saw the face draw back, as if the delicate facial scales were trying to sink back through the skin and into the skull. From the side of his vision he felt the eyes dim, like they were blinding prematurely. And try as he might, Ruthless could not conceal his sigh, for Sherlock felt his lungs through his soaking feet.

"You've remembered, haven't you?" murmured Sherlock.

"Holmes," said Ruthless. His bestial accent gave the name a weight, a power, but it was an ancient one, too old for Sherlock to understand. "Now _that's_ a name I remember. It was quite recent for me, of course. You're lucky."

"But if it wasn't me, which Holmes did you meet?" thought Sherlock out loud. Finally he let his mind race off, hot on the trail of mystery. "You said my smell was familiar, but it wasn't enough for you to know immediately who I was, so it must be someone related to me but not easily confused with me. Mycroft? My father?"

"No, not your father," dismissed the dragon with a head-shake. "He'd be about your age, now. And I remember...I remember he looked like my old Hiccup."

"Hiccup? What's that?" queried Sherlock.

" _Who's_ that," Ruthless corrected. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. He was my boy. Although I suppose he was older than me at the time, so really I was his dragon. A skinny thing, not the hero type at all, completely ordinary, all the way from his red, freckled head to his cold little toes."

"Red hair?" breathed Sherlock. His heart plunged into the ocean where the great nothing cackled at its smallness.

"That's right," confirmed Ruthless. "it was the hair. He had red hair, that's what reminded me of Hiccup."

 _"Who?"_ demanded Sherlock, his voice spiked with emotion. Ruthless, the mighty Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus, just looked at him.

"Why, Redbeard the Pirate."


	2. Chapter 2

Two or three decades ago-I think; reckoning in human time is like counting fish in a shoal-I was roaming above the mainland where the Roman Empire used to be. I don't suppose you remember that, but I can't recall what you humans call that place these days...something like You-Rope? Anyway, northwest of that continent there is a large island, and there are a few other islands around it, one of which is right up next to it, you know, the little green one. Chock-full of people, nothing like a proper archipelago, but I was in the area and I felt like exploring. So I did-I settled on the big one in the middle.

I was walking along a deserted beach when I smelt human approaching. I couldn't run back into the ocean without them seeing me, so I found a thick patch of greenery and hunkered down as deep as I could. I'm lucky it was springtime, else I would've been too bright for the heather. I saw the humans come, I believe I counted six, and they started chattering and setting up their rather useless camp as if they were totally alone. They were far away and downwind, more preoccupied with the sea than anything else, so I dozed off in my bed of flora. I tell you, nothing is nicer than a nap in the sunshine.

I must've been fast asleep, for I didn't even notice until he was right on top of me. I heard a rustling very close by and woke up instantly. And the first thing my eyes lit upon was this boy. He had red hair and big brown eyes, and despite being well fed he managed to be thin. I don't care much for humans, the way they are these days, so I growled at him. Very softly, for I didn't want to alert any of his family that might be around. He gave a little gasp and backed up a little, still holding the brush up with his free hand. In the other hand he had a stick-what else?-but it was closer to a switch, a rubbish tool for fighting. And despite my warning he stood there, looking at me, trying to see me in the shadows with his feeble human eyes. He even looked into _my_ eyes with those little peepers. I was so surprised I didn't try to hypnotize him. The look on his face was...why, there's no better word for it than curious. I can kill anything I meet, particularly boys armed with nothing but shorts and a switch, and the only expression he can think to put on is curious. Figures.

There was a call nearby, another boy, from the sound of it. The boy looked away towards the call, and then he looked back at me. And he said-do you know what he said?-he said:

"I'll be back. Don't go away."

Imagine! A human boy, and a boy like _that_ , no less, ordering around a full-grown Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus? If he hadn't swanned off right then I would've given him a good nip for his bad manners. But it's not like I could leave anyway, what with humans around. We dragons are supposed to be hiding, you know, and we're quite good at it. I wouldn't want to ruin our 942-year-long streak of no sightings and get a thump on the head from everyone I met for the next fifty years. And after I thought awhile, I began to realize that I didn't dislike him as much as I did most humans. I couldn't think of why-it didn't occur to me until later that he was so much like Hiccup. So I did stay, watching the sun on the waves and drifting in and out of sleep.

When he came again it was almost sunset. Far away I saw the humans reclining on the sand, and only one of them was still in the surf. He pulled up the branches again, climbed under, and sat down in front of me. I could see him perfectly from the light of my eyes. He was close enough for me to lick him.

"What do you think you're doing?" I growled indignantly. I thought to scare him off with that, but he wasn't even startled.

"You're a dragon, aren't you?" he asked. I rolled my eyes, which I think made him giggle.

"What did you think I was, a pony?" I retorted. His whole face broke out in a beam-it was almost cute.

"Wicked!" he gasped, his entire face lighting up like the night sky. I felt a small surge of pride, for we dragons are vain creatures. "I've never seen a dragon before!"

"Well, of course you haven't," I huffed. He had the most infuriating curiosity...I liked it. "You're not supposed to see us. We're supposed to be hiding, you know."

"Why?" he asked. It was as innocent a question as any, but I had trouble answering it. He was only a boy, after all, and the reasons for dragons going into hiding are difficult even for old minds.

"It's...complicated," I said finally, trying not to notice how his young face changed. "It sort of has to do with humans themselves, and how everything seems to keep changing, but it really doesn't have anything to do with children, so there's no need for you to worry yourself over it."

He nodded in understanding. He must have been used to such useless answers-from what I understand of modern grown-ups, that's all they can be bothered to give to their children. I wondered if he didn't know more, though, for his brow seemed to gain a weight of knowledge.

"I was starting to believe that dragons weren't real." he lamented. I didn't know what to say to that. In my youth dragons and humans had been well aware of each other, and though occasionally they enslaved us and sometimes we killed them it was, for the most part, a functional relationship. I had never thought of what it would be like when humans and dragons were apart. Frantically I dug up my memories of Hiccup, my first boy and my last, of all the adventures we escorted each other on. I searched for honor, for joy, for any emotion whatsoever to prove that those times had existed. To my horror I couldn't remember. I had been too young, too naive, and I didn't know enough to care or remember or treasure the last years of that dying age.

"What is your name?" I asked softly.

"Redbeard the Pirate!" he burst. I blinked in surprise, for I hadn't thought pirates lived in those parts anymore. He must have taken it for skepticism, for then he said, "Well, it's actually Victor. Victor Trevor."

"I'll tell you what, Redbeard," I said. I took a great breath and looked the boy in the eye. "In my day every boy had a dragon of his own. Once I was one of these dragons, and though I was too young to know most things, I was very happy with my boy. His name was Hiccup, you see, and though he didn't look it, he grew up to be a famous hero, and I like to think that I had much to do with it. This was all a very, very long time ago, but it _did_ happen. And even though most other dragons would disagree, or even call me a traitor, I am beginning to think that it should happen again."

"You don't mean it?!" exploded the little one, leaping to his feet. His display of excitement made me laugh, for he was somewhat cramped in the low underbrush.

"Well, you're a pirate, aren't you?" I asked. If his grin could have possibly gotten any bigger, it did then. "Who's going to light the enemy ships on fire? Who's going to lead you through a storm? What's a pirate without a dragon?"

"Ohthankyouthankyou _thankyou!_ " shrieked the boy, tackling my entire face in an enthusiastic hug. "I love my dragon! I'll feed you, I'll pet you, and I'll name you Greenblood!"

"You don't get to name me," I snapped indignantly. Dragons don't do touchy-feely. "I have a name already, and it's a much better name for a pirate-dragon than Greenblood."

"Oh yeah? What is it?" he demanded, offended at my criticism.

" _Ruthless_ ," I crooned. I narrowed my eyes and got low to the ground, creeping forward in a mock stalk. "Seadragonus Giganticus Maximus, Dragon-Baron of the North Seas, an expert ocean predator, and I answer only to Redbeard the Pirate!"

"That's _me!_ " he crowed, vaulting onto my head and thrusting his stick triumphantly into the air. "I'm Redbeard the Pirate, brother of Yellowbeard the Pirate, and I'm not afraid of anything because my dragon is Ruthless!"

I would've given a victory roar then and there, if another voice hadn't stopped me. A human cry, sharp and authoritative, far too close for my liking. I retreated back down into the brush, and Redbeard clambered out into the open. Outside I saw another boy meet him, older and much larger, particularly around the middle. They exchanged words, I didn't bother following the conversation, and with a final huff the larger boy walked away, towards the camp. It was only then that I noticed it was nearly dark.

"I have to go home," said Redbeard as he ran back in. "What will Mummy and Daddy say when they see you?"

"They won't have to," I reassured him. Thinking quickly, I reached to my chest and fished out a scale, already loose because it was growing over my scar. "Take this with you-don't show anyone unless you completely trust them. I can't memorize your scent in so little time, but my own I would recognize anywhere. Take this home with you and I will track you and find you."

He took the scale in his hands, a look of awe dawning on his young face. His doe brown eyes turned green in its reflection. He looked up at me, and his countenance changed from wonder to sadness to hope all in an eyeblink.

"Goodbye, Ruthless," farewelled Redbeard. He gave me a great hug around my neck, and I curled my head around his back to drink in his scent for the last time.

"I'll find you," I promised, and he scampered away.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a cruel thing, what grown-ups do to children. All they want is to learn, to play, to enjoy the great big world that they know so little about. They have so much energy and optimism, we cannot possibly keep up. But we are too cowardly to tell them outright, so instead we postpone. We tell them not now, we tell them maybe later, we tell them in a moment. What we don't tell them is not ever, that maybe means no this time, that the moment will never come.

I never came to him. I always found something else to do. New prey to chase, new territory to explore, and all the while I knew that none of it was as important as the boy waiting for me on that island. I stayed in the area, of course, but for all the good it did me I may as well have been at the South Pole. It couldn't have been so long, but it felt like years. And that's _my_ years, dragons'-years. That's what guilt will do to you. It stretches everything...time, pain, and the lines on your face.

Now, Seadragonus Giganticus Maximi have incredible ability. We can kill with jaws, claws, and most other parts of our bodies, come to think of it. As masters of the earth, sea and sky, we are the undisputed kings of this planet. But in my not-so-humble opinion, one of our greatest gifts is that of the senses. I can smell things about you that you don't know yourself. I can see more stars than you would ever think existed. And one night, that fateful night, I heard, across leagues of trackless sea, a cry for help from a child in mortal danger.

" _Ruthless!"_

A roar of panic ripped from my throat, and I wheeled and bolted.

I sprinted through the ocean, following the whisper of a call. Miles of surface flew over me and I stared into the distant water for the first hint of land. I had never gone faster and it wasn't fast enough. And all the while I erected my ears against the rushing water, straining to listen, focusing on the tiny sound because if I missed it again forgiveness would be lost forever.

" _Help!"_

The island began to appear, leagues away. Ignoring my flaming muscles I redoubled my speed. Soon enough I saw from the bottom edge of my eyes the seafloor approaching, rising to become the shallows and eventually the beach. I dove, down to the earth, aiming for the corner where it flattened towards the shore. I reached it, bunched my legs, and looked to the sky.

A heartbeat later I burst from the surface, outflying the water droplets and opening my wings. The island dashed beneath me. I glared into it, scrutinizing hundreds of houses, looking down at thousands of human heads and not one of them was my boy.

"Save me!"

There!

I executed a perfect midair turn for the first time in my life and sped towards his voice. I answered him, shouting back and not giving a cod for any human that heard me. Every pump of my wings doubled my speed until I was an arrow in the sky. Sprinting through the night air I saw a castle and dove. I crashed on the hillside beside it, sending sod flying in every direction. I threw my head about to find him. Over the coursing of my blood I heard running water.

A well.

I screamed and I thrust my head into the well and I…

And I...

Sherlock started.

Looking around him he saw nothing but ocean. He was still on Ruthless's floating belly. The dragon...the dragon must have hypnotised him. The vision had been so vivid that he'd forgotten everything else, about where he was, who he was. But why had it ended prematurely?

"Ruthless?" Sherlock fearlessly looked up into the beast's great eyes. They were clouded with an archaic emotion. They stared into nothing as Ruthless muttered to himself, softly, in a language Sherlock couldn't recognize. Dread rose within him.

"Ruthless!" Sherlock rushed at the dragon's neck with such vehemence that he almost slipped off. "How does the story end? You have to tell me!"

The dragon continued to murmur. Sherlock thought back to his brother's face, seen through the lens of Ruthless's memory. Instantly a foreign heat flared in his breast. Victor Trevor, the boy he had loved and forgotten. He could feel the suppressed memories beating against his brain, demanding to be let in just as Sherlock demanded to know. He was so close to remembering. So close to having him back!

"Ruthless, _please!_ " Sherlock begged, pounding his fists against the scale. The chanting stopped.

"Victor?"

Sherlock backed up so the dragon could see him. Ruthless looked confused, like he had just awoken from hypnosis himself. His lips kept trying to form words-Sherlock had no idea if he recognized him. He didn't care.

Tears in his eyes, he shouted his question.

"Ruthless, did you save my brother?"


End file.
